Sinclair Quotes

We'd get sick on too many cookies, but ever so much sicker on no cookies at all.

It is difficult to get a man to understand something, when his salary depends on his not understanding it.

I think perhaps we want a more conscious life.

I aimed at the public's heart, and by accident I hit it in the stomach.

No matter what historians claimed, BC really stood for "Before Coffee.

When fascism comes to America, it will be wrapped in the flag and carrying a cross.

Fascism is capitalism plus murder.

It is impossible to discourage the real writers - they don't give a damn what you say, they're going to write.

It's hard for an educated woman to turn her head off. That's part of the joy of being a submissive. None of the decisions are yours. When you can't refuse anything and can't even move, those voices in your head go silent. All you can do, and all you are permitted to do, is feel.

Gabi to Marcus "I can't believe out of one hundred thousand sperm, you were the fastest!

We are Sinclairs. Beautiful. Privileged. Damaged. Liar. We live, least in the summertime, on a private island off the coast of Massachusetts. Perhaps that is all you need to know.

Winter is not a season, it's an occupation.

Every man is a king so long as he has someone to look down on.

Coffee and chocolate—the inventor of mocha should be sainted.

All art is propaganda. It is universally and inescabably propaganda; sometimes unconsciously, but often deliberately, propaganda.

Right on the edge of fear was where trust could grow.

what you need and what you want aren't the same things,

Just love me, Myrna," he whispered against her lips. "Please." ~Brian "Master" Sinclair

Love is not maximum emotion. Love is maximum commitment.

Ask yourself, does this person make me feel good about myself? Do I feel safe, strong and free with this person? Those are the questions you need to ask....You have to be strong to truly be open.

He loved the people just as much as he feared and detested persons.

I think Upton Sinclair once wrote that a man has difficulty understanding something if his salary depends on his not understanding.

Sex is a team sport, sugar.

With you i found myself. You are the one i was waiting for, when i didn't even realize i was waiting. -dr. Emma Sinclair-

the easiest way to keep a woman over your shoulder is with a hand on her ass, and the other between her legs.

If you need something desperately and find it, this is not an accident; your own craving and compulsion leads you to it.

I will prove myself strong when they think I am sick. I will prove myself brave when they think I am weak -Cady Sinclair

Christian Gray visited the Shadowlands and the real Doms laughed him out of the club. From Chat with Cherise Sinclair 08/17/12

They use everything about the hog except the squeal.

Feelings are feelings. They don't have dumb or smart labels,

It isn't what you earn but how spend it that fixes your class.

The rich people not only had all the money, they had all the chance to get more; they had all the know-ledge and the power, and so the poor man was down, and he had to stay down.

Take your hands off her, Sinclair told the guy behind me, Or they'll write books about what I'll do to you.

Have you gone crazy?" "Have you gone crazy, Master.

You're so earnest about morality that I hate to think how essentially immoral you must be underneath.

What is it you want, Finley Sinclair?" Some peace. Some healing. To hear God's voice again. I wanted to find my brother's Ireland. To put it into song. And I wanted my heart back. "I'll know it when I find it." I looked past Beckett and into the night sky. "Or when it finds me.

The Maker of the universe with stars a hundred thousand light-years apart was interested, furious, and very personal about it if a small boy played baseball on Sunday afternoon.

That's a dumb-ass idea." She was too angry to curb her mouth. "You're a dumb-ass." She tried to kick and got nowhere. "Even Jesus thinks you're a dumb-ass.

Be brave, little rabbit. Take a chance.

You dickweed! Are you always stupid, or is today a special occasion?

It is one of the major tragedies that nothing is more discomforting than the hearty affection of the Old Friends who never were friends.

There is one kind of prison where the man is behind bars, and everything that he desires is outside; and there is another kind where the things are behind the bars, and the man is outside.

I had a naked incubus in my bedroom. With a frying pan of half-cooked bacon, and a hard-on. And a unicorn bite on his ass. Christ, this was turning out to be a weird morning.

God, you’re uptight. Did the aliens maybe forget to remove your anal probe?

Whatever demon invented stiletto-heeled boots should roast in hell...

One of the necessary accompaniments of capitalism in a democracy is political corruption.

There are two insults which no human being will endure: The assertion that he hasn't a sense of humor, and the doubly impertinent assertion that he has never known trouble.

Impertinent submissive,” Raoul snapped, and his dark brown eyes turned mean. “Nothing new for this one. You're doing a lousy job of bringing her to heel, Marcus.” “Bring me to heel? Like I'm a dog?” Without thinking, Gabi instinctively yanked away and snapped out, “Bite me.

Don’t bother to argue. We’re both going to have nightmares. You will be in my bed and in my arms when that happens.

When something horrible happens, your brain doesn't process the memories right. It stores everything-- sounds, pain, smells, feelings-- all mixed up. It doesn't matter if you believed it or it made sense; it gets stored.

The things we see," Pistorius said softly, "are the same things that are within us. There is no reality except the one contained within us. That is why so many people live such an unreal life. They take the images outside them for reality and never allow the world within to assert itself. You can be happy that way. But once you know the other interpretation you no longer have the choice of following the crowd. Sinclair, the majority's path is an easy one, ours is difficult.

You want company, sugar?” Her eyes brimmed with tears, and she could only nod. “Good answer. You saved yourself a fight.

The great corporation which employed you lied to you, and lied to the whole country—from top to bottom it was nothing but one gigantic lie.

I wish you could see what I see when I look at you.

You spanked me,” she told him. “I did.” He lifted her shoulders high enough to push a wedge pillow under the pad. “And I enjoyed it very much. You have a very spankable ass, no?

Awww, that's sweet. Nothing says ‘I love you’ like a well-made implement of pain.

You're very lovely, gatita." Her brows pulled together, and she gave him a skeptical stare. "Do not look at your master as if he's an idiot.

If we are the greatest nation the sun ever shone upon, it would seem to be mainly because we have been able to goad our wage-earners to this pitch of frenzy.

To do that would mean, not merely to be defeated, but to acknowledge defeat- and the difference between these two things is what keeps the world going.

What the heck kind of name was Sir?

Oh lord and master. High muckety-muck.

the only thing men are fast at is sex.

Human beings suffer agonies, and their sad fates become legends; poets write verses about them and playwrights compose dramas, and the remembrance of past grief becomes a source of present pleasure - such is the strange alchemy of the spirit.

You know how really big guys are always nicknamed Tiny?" She didn’t wait for any response, afraid she’d chicken out. "Guess that would make you Master Munchkin, huh?

You mean you’re not God? Nooo, say it isn’t so!

No, whoever was out there didn't want to take her in. But his sights were on her, gun sights, steady. Clear. She stared into them, and with a mocking smile, mouthed the words, I dare you!" (Cassie Sinclair) *** He smiled at the challenge. One day, she just might dare him too far, but he doubted it would be a bullet he'd penetrate her with. (Unknown Breed)

The Senator was vulgar, almost illiterate, a public liar easily detected, and in his "ideas" almost idiotic, while his celebrated piety was that of a traveling salesman for church furniture, and his yet more celebrated humor the sly cynicism of a country store. Certainly there was nothing exhilarating in the actual words of his speeches, nor anything convincing in his philosophy. His political platforms were only wings of a windmill.

You dumb-ass ape, get your hand off me. What—are you the first in your family to be born without a tail?

She rubbed her cheek on his chest like a sleepy cat. “I like when you hold me.” Dios, she was going to break his heart. “I like when I hold you too.

Am I your dom, little rabbit?” “Yes.” Her red-brown brows drew together. “What’s wrong?” “Not a thing.” He gave her a faint smile, and his gravelly voice deepened. “I thought I’d tell you we’re getting married next month.” ~Nolan and Beth~

You are my life, but you are not my purpose.

Whatever the misery, he could not regain contentment with a world which, once doubted, became absurd.

They were trying to save their souls- and who but a fool could fail to see that all that was the matter with their souls was that they had not been able to get a decent existence for their bodies?

Toys? When a man—a dom—said toys, he didn’t mean stuffed animals or baseballs.

So much in a revolution is nothing but waiting.

It's a girl thing, trying to change ourselves as if we can change our lives too.

If God wanted humans to eat vegetables, he wouldn’t have colored them green. Green things are moldy.

He smiled. A sub shouldn’t be terrified, but a little anxiety was good.

A country that tolerates evil means- evil manners, standards of ethics-for a generation, will be so poisoned that it never will have any good end.

I wouldn't do this if i didn't care, but you mean everything to me, and if this is what you need, then this is what you'll get. But we're damned well going to work on changing this association between caring and spanking.

He liked to touch, she realized. In bed, he kept his arms around her or a hand on her like now. The way he played with her breasts, or just touched her, or ran his hands over her body, made her feel so...so beautiful, Desirable.

Since you couldn't be bothered to give me your name, I'll just tell Moira that an extra from the porno version of Something Wicked This Way Comes was looking for her.

Failure is a bruise. Not a tattoo.

Most troubles are unnecessary. We have Nature beaten; we can make her grow wheat; we can keep warm when she sends blizzards. So we raise the devil just for pleasure--wars, politics, race-hatreds, labor-disputes.

Into this wild-beast tangle these men had been born without their consent, they had taken part in it because they could not help it; that they were in jail was no disgrace to them, for the game had never been fair, the dice were loaded. They were swindlers and thieves of pennies and dimes, and they had been trapped and put out of the way by the swindlers and thieves of millions of dollars.

I’m a firm believer in equality at all times—” “At all times?” She glanced at the cuffs clipped to his leathers. “Why do I find that hard to believe?” And why the heck was she arguing with him. Mine, mine, mine. “At all times,” he repeated. “However, in the bedroom or in the club, I am a lot more equal than you.

I think perhaps we want a more conscious life. We're tired of drudging and sleeping and dying. We're tired of seeing just a few people able to be individualists. We're tired of always deferring hope till the next generation. We're tired of hearing politicians and priests and cautious reformers... coax us, 'Be calm! Be patient! Wait! We have the plans for a Utopia already made; just wiser than you.' For ten thousand years they've said that. We want our Utopia now — and we're going to try our hands at it.

…and suddenly I love you beyond all measure is not just words but a heart, a soul bursting open, a stripping raw of all pretense. It is Sully, it is Gabriel, it is his tears on my face, his body in mine, our minds seamless. It is hopes and dreams and failures. It is apologies and a prayer for redemption. It is heaven and damnation. All that I am is yours pales beside it. It is everything. It is love.

She couldn’t take her eyes from the dancing flame. No, this was so wrong. Candles should be used for meditation…for romance. Or on a birthday cake at least. So where was the cake? The present? The song? As he stepped closer to her—as the damned flame got way too close—she started singing. “Happy birthday to me. Happy birthday to me…” Marcus paused, looking at her in disbelief. See. I knew he didn’t have a sense of humor. “Happy birthday, dear Gabi”—she lifted her head and blew out the candle—“happy birthday to me.

I want you to stop being subhuman and become 'yourself'. 'Yourself,' I say. Not the newspaper you read, not your vicious neighbor's opinion, but 'yourself.' I know, and you don't, what you really are deep down. Deep down, you are what a deer, your God, your poet, or your philosopher is. But you think you're a member of the VFW, your bowling club, or the Ku Klux Klan, and because you think so, you behave as you do. This too was told you long ago, by Heinrich Mann in Germany, by Upton Sinclair and John Dos Passos in the United States. But you recognized neither Mann nor Sinclair. You recognize only the heavyweight champion and Al Capone. If given your choice between a library and a fight, you'll undoubtedly go to the fight.

More and more, as I think about history,” he pondered, “I am convinced that everything that is worth while in the world has been accomplished by the free, inquiring, critical spirit, and that the preservation of this spirit is more important than any social system whatsoever. But the men of ritual and the men of barbarism are capable of shutting up the men of science and of silencing them forever.

You’re not too bad, Finley Sinclair.” I couldn’t have looked away from this boy if the room had caught on fire. “You’re okay yourself. At times.” “But we can’t get involved.” “No.” I swallowed. “Definitely not.” His face lowered a fraction of an inch. “Because I’m infamously bad.” “And I’m staying away from trouble.” His voice was rough, husky. “It would never work.” I took a step closer. “Impossible.” He traced my cheek with the pad of his thumb. “We don’t even like each other." “I pretty much can’t stand you.” And then his lips crushed to mine.

Only after the words were spoken did she realize what she had said. "My sins are all your fault, Brodick, and if I have to go to purgatory, then by God, you're going with me. Ramsey, if you do not stop laughing,I swear I shall toss you over this cliff." "Do you love him, lass?" Father asked. "I do not," she answered emphatically. "It isn't a requirement," Laggan pointed out. "I should hope not," she cried. "But it would make your life easier," he countered. "Gillian, you will tell the truth," Brodick demanded. He grabbed hold of her hand. She tried to pull back, but he wouldn't let go. "I have told the truth. I don't love Ramsey, and if he doesn't stop laughing at me, the Sinclairs will soon be looking for a new laird." "Not Ramsey," Laggan shouted so he could be heard over Ramsey's laughter. "I'm asking you if you love Brodick." "Did you tell Father I love you? Who else did you tell?

It was all so very businesslike that one watched it fascinated. It was pork-making by machinery, pork-making by applied mathematics. And yet somehow the most matter-of-fact person could not help thinking of the hogs; they were so innocent, they came so very trustingly; and they were so very human in their protests - and so perfectly within their rights! They had done nothing to deserve it; and it was adding insult to injury, as the thing was done here, swinging them up in this cold-blooded, impersonal way, without pretence at apology, without the homage of a tear.

Why are you so afraid of the word ‘Fascism,’ Doremus? Just a word—just a word! And might not be so bad, with all the lazy bums we got panhandling relief nowadays, and living on my income tax and yours—not so worse to have a real Strong Man, like Hitler or Mussolini—like Napoleon or Bismarck in the good old days—and have ‘em really run the country and make it efficient and prosperous again. ‘Nother words, have a doctor who won’t take any back-chat, but really boss the patient and make him get well whether he likes it or not!

One could not stand and watch very long without being philosophical, without beginning to deal in symbols and similes, and to hear the hog-squeal of the universe.... Each of them had an individuality of his own, a will of his own, a hope and a heart's desire; each was full of self-confidence, of self-importance, and a sense of dignity. And trusting and strong in faith he had gone about his business, the while a black shadow hung over him, and a horrid Fate in his pathway. Now suddenly it had swooped upon him, and had seized him by the leg. Relentless, remorseless, all his protests, his screams were nothing to it. It did its cruel will with him, as if his wishes, his feelings, had simply no existence at all; it cut his throat and watched him gasp out his life.

She took a second look at him, at his fancy tailored suit. Dark gray with pinstripes. Oh please, like she’d really believe he was a dom at all? “Gabrielle Anderson. Are you sure you’re Master Marcus?” “Why would you think I’m not Master Marcus?” he asked. Well, good grief. She waved a hand at him and kept the duh from slipping out. Just in case he really was Master Marcus. Maybe he hadn’t changed yet or something. “The suit? Where are your leathers or latex or…biker jacket or vest? And black? Did you forget to wear black?” He stared for a second, as if she’d turned into a drooling idiot, and then simply roared. Deep, full laughter—amazing coming from someone who looked like he should have a stick up his ass.

At the end of that class Demian said to me thoughtfully: "There’s something I don’t like about this story, Sinclair. Why don’t you read it once more and give it the acid test? There’s something about it that doesn’t taste right. I mean the business with the two thieves. The three crosses standing next to each other on the hill are almost impressive, to be sure. But now comes this sentimental little treatise about the good thief. At first he was a thorough scoundrel, had committed all those awful things and God knows what else, and now he dissolves in tears and celebrates such a tearful feast of self-improvement and remorse! What’s the sense of repenting if you’re two steps from the grave? I ask you. Once again, it’s nothing but a priest’s fairy tale, saccharine and dishonest, touched up with sentimentality and given a high edifying background. If you had to pick a friend from between the two thieves or decide which one you’d rather trust, you most certainly wouldn’t choose the sniveling convert. No, the other fellow, he’s a man of character. He doesn’t give a hoot for ‘conversion’, which to a man in his position can’t be anything but a pretty speech. He follows his destiny to it’s appointed end and does not turn coward and forswear the devil, who has aided and abetted him until then. He has character, and people with character tend to receive the short end of the stick in biblical stories. Perhaps he’s even a descendant of Cain. Don’t you agree?" I was dismayed. Until now I had felt completely at home in the story of the Crucifixion. Now I saw for the first time with how little individuality, with how little power of imagination I had listened to it and read it. Still, Demian’s new concept seemed vaguely sinister and threatened to topple beliefs on whose continued existence I felt I simply had to insist. No, one could not make light of everything, especially not of the most Sacred matters. As usual he noticed my resistance even before I had said anything. "I know," he said in a resigned tone of voice, "it’s the same old story: don’t take these stories seriously! But I have to tell you something: this is one of the very places that reveals the poverty of this religion most distinctly. The point is that this God of both Old and New Testaments is certainly an extraordinary figure but not what he purports to represent. He is all that is good, noble, fatherly, beautiful, elevated, sentimental—true! But the world consists of something else besides. And what is left over is ascribed to the devil, this entire slice of world, this entire half is hushed up. In exactly the same way they praise God as the father of all life but simply refuse to say a word about our sexual life on which it’s all based, describing it whenever possible as sinful, the work of the devil. I have no objection to worshiping this God Jehovah, far from it. But I mean we ought to consider everything sacred, the entire world, not merely this artificially separated half! Thus alongside the divine service we should also have a service for the devil. I feel that would be right. Otherwise you must create for yourself a God that contains the devil too and in front of which you needn’t close your eyes when the most natural things in the world take place.

They were staggered to learn that a real tangible person, living in Minnesota, and married to their own flesh-and-blood relation, could apparently believe that divorce may not always be immoral; that illegitimate children do not bear any special and guaranteed form of curse; that there are ethical authorities outside of the Hebrew Bible; that men have drunk wine yet not died in the gutter; that the capitalistic system of distribution and the Baptist wedding-ceremony were not known in the Garden of Eden; that mushrooms are as edible as corn-beef hash; that the word "dude" is no longer frequently used; that there are Ministers of the Gospel who accept evolution; that some persons of apparent intelligence and business ability do not always vote the Republican ticket straight; that it is not a universal custom to wear scratchy flannels next the skin in winter; that a violin is not inherently more immoral than a chapel organ; that some poets do not have long hair; and that Jews are not always peddlers or pants-makers. "Where does she get all them theories?" marveled Uncle Whittier Smail; while Aunt Bessie inquired, "Do you suppose there's many folks got notions like hers? My! If there are," and her tone settled the fact that there were not, "I just don't know what the world's coming to!

They had chains which they fastened about the leg of the nearest hog, and the other end of the chain they hooked into one of the rings upon the wheel. So, as the wheel turned, a hog was suddenly jerked off his feet and borne aloft. At the same instant the ear was assailed by a most terrifying shriek; the visitors started in alarm, the women turned pale and shrank back. The shriek was followed by another, louder and yet more agonizing--for once started upon that journey, the hog never came back; at the top of the wheel he was shunted off upon a trolley and went sailing down the room. And meantime another was swung up, and then another, and another, until there was a double line of them, each dangling by a foot and kicking in frenzy--and squealing. The uproar was appalling, perilous to the ear-drums; one feared there was too much sound for the room to hold--that the walls must give way or the ceiling crack. There were high squeals and low squeals, grunts, and wails of agony; there would come a momentary lull, and then a fresh outburst, louder than ever, surging up to a deafening climax. It was too much for some of the visitors--the men would look at each other, laughing nervously, and the women would stand with hands clenched, and the blood rushing to their faces, and the tears starting in their eyes. Meantime, heedless of all these things, the men upon the floor were going about their work. Neither squeals of hogs nor tears of visitors made any difference to them; one by one they hooked up the hogs, and one by one with a swift stroke they slit their throats. There was a long line of hogs, with squeals and life-blood ebbing away together; until at last each started again, and vanished with a splash into a huge vat of boiling water. It was all so very businesslike that one watched it fascinated. It was pork-making by machinery, pork-making by applied mathematics. And yet somehow the most matter-of-fact person could not help thinking of the hogs; they were so innocent, they came so very trustingly; and they were so very human in their protests--and so perfectly within their rights! They had done nothing to deserve it; and it was adding insult to injury, as the thing was done here, swinging them up in this cold-blooded, impersonal way, without a pretence at apology, without the homage of a tear. Now and then a visitor wept, to be sure; but this slaughtering-machine ran on, visitors or no visitors. It was like some horrible crime committed in a dungeon, all unseen and unheeded, buried out of sight and of memory.